Remnants
by theunlivedlife
Summary: In a universe where Charles never came back, Jane muses about what was and what is.


Jane fingered the well-worn handkerchief in her hand, feeling the same strain of melancholy that had slowly changed from sadness to wistfulness as the years had passed. She traced the long-faded but elegantly stitched B adorning the cloth, wondering at how steady her hand been despite the girlish excitement and nerves over her audacity.

She walked to the fire and held the small scrap of fabric over the flames, for the briefest moment imaging what the white fabric would look like caught aflame. Would seeing the grey ashes make her feel any freer from it? Would the lack of one more reminder be enough to make the last whispers of his ghost leave her?

Yet, it was a fleeting moment, a contemplation of almost habit now after so many years, rather than a serious intent. She turned, carefully folding the scrap of fabric and placing it carefully in her drawer under her prayer book. A walk through the gardens was always helpful in this mood.

Bonnet and pelisse placed, it was not long before the sunshine and smell of roses chased away the tinge of regret to leave only memories. This was how it should be, she thought, but beautiful autumn memories of one's first love. Were not most first loves like autumn? All brief dramatic colors and freshness before the plunge of a winter. All lasses' hearts were warm like summers until that touch of fall colors. Only after did the disappointment freeze them for a time. Jane was not the only woman who had found her heart so vulnerable and touched that first time that a small part never unfroze again. Some would call it loss of innocence that comes upon all, but others knew it was learning not to give your whole self.

At least her dear sweet Lizzy had never had to learn that. Fitzwilliam gave as much of himself to her as she did to him, if not more. Really, Fitzwilliam had narrowly escaped Jane's own fate, had Lizzy not changed her mind. Lizzy had changed her affections to love, while Ch-…. no, He, had changed them to indifference. Or was it really a change? His changing affections would indicate he never had them at all.

She sighed. Hiraeth, the welsh said. A longing for something that once, or maybe never, was.

Still, she did well. Even if her mind wandered occasionally there was no denying she was happy. Her mother was more than content her perfect Jane had captured an estate of six thousand a year with elegant grounds and a dower house far enough away that as long as she did not visit the main house too often her son-in-law did not mind her living in. And of course, there was her husband. Her husband was everything Jane could have ever hoped for and nothing she would have expected.

Stephan was a very handsome man, although he did not think so. His sun kissed skin was a touch dark to be fashionable but showed his love for riding. His bright eyes danced with affection and liveliness when he looked at her, and he had a smile he reserved just for her. He was outgoing enough to help her overcome her shyness while introverted enough to perfectly understand it. He was a good landlord and better man. He championed what was right and was very aware of his faults, even if he sometimes struggled to face them. Most, he loved her in a way she could not have imagined herself being loved.

And she loved him, to a breadth that she never thought she would. She loved him with his faults. She loved him as the father to her children, as a model, as a friend, as a partner, and as a wife to her husband. Her love was always present in her soul without question or thought.

These thoughts did not change that, nor did it eliminate them entirely. If once and a while she was aware there was a part of her she kept for herself, it did not mean she was less connected to him. If she was aware that her husband was a bit shorter and broader than He had been, she found him no less handsome. If he was less generally agreeable, he was also less swayed by other's opinions. If she was aware that her love was less all-consuming than it had been once upon a time, it did not mean that she loved him less.

Their love was of the much steadier kind, less idealistic and impassioned, but all the stronger for its all-encompassing and steady nature.

"There you are dearest," came a whisper in her ear as strong arms wrapped around her, "Maddie has been asking for you."

She smiled, the ghostly touches on her mind fleeing from the sensation. "Only Maddie?" she asked as she turned around.

For half a second, she thought about the fact that his eyes might be the same color but not near the same shade before the eyes glowed with loving warmth and the thought vanished instantly.

He grinned. "I am just your daughter's humble servant my lady. Though it would please me if she consented to share your attentions this fine afternoon. A picnic might be just the thing to convince her."

Jane's tinkling laugh sang through the gardens as she took her husband's arm. "A fine plan sir"

Maybe next time she thought of Him, be it next month or next year, she would finally throw the handkerchief into the fire.


End file.
